


Sick Robots

by Fulcrumisthebomb



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, sick robots being taken care of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-25
Updated: 2014-07-12
Packaged: 2018-01-10 00:37:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1152712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fulcrumisthebomb/pseuds/Fulcrumisthebomb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of random ficlets where I inflict my personal various illnesses (i.e. migraines, viruses, etc) on fictional robots so they can be cuddled by their boyfriends. Each chapter will be titled by pairing and continuity to make it easier for you to browse.</p><p>Eventually there will be a mix of pairings from Transformers (various continuities) and Brave Police J-Decker; possibly other series if I get inspired.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ratchet/Ultra Magnus (TFP)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [grimcognito](https://archiveofourown.org/users/grimcognito/gifts), [TekkaChama](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TekkaChama/gifts).



Usually Ratchet would celebrate how large his lover was, how the broadly-built frame dwarfed his, how the big engines were always idling and gears creaked and whirred in a delightful cacophony he had long since memorised. Ratchet would be proud how a simple brush of contact engaged their fans and warmed the matte blue plating, filling the space around them with the faint hint of ozone.

Tonight was not one of those times.

Ratchet moaned softly as he rolled onto his side, embarrassed by his desperate grip on Ultra Magnus's thigh. The gentle tapping on the data pad- which sounded like Bulkhead hammering his helm in- mercifully stopped.

" _Must_ you do those damned reports?" Ratchet whispered angrily.

A warm hand settled on Ratchet's helm, Ultra Magnus' voice as soft as the medic's. "Your processor ache still troubles you?"

Ratchet groaned unintelligibly.

"Ah. I thought you were recharging."

"Can't. No lights. No sound," Ratchet begged, curling in on himself. "You'll have to work elsewhere."

"No."

Ratchet sighed as the accursed glow of the data pad faded, leaving them in near darkness. Instead of standing, Ultra Magnus slowly, carefully pulled Ratchet up into his lap, cradling the medic's helm with both hands. Surprisingly, the softly rubbed circles by his audials helped the pain, even if temporarily.

"Your work...?" Ratchet asked tiredly.

"Can wait," Ultra Magnus rumbled. "Since conventional methods do not help your frequent processor aches, I have been studying a human concept called 'empathy', a strange energy between humans that can ease physical and mental distress. Is this helping?"

"Yes," Ratchet replied dreamily. "But it's not permanent. If you stop it, returns."

Ultra Magnus bent and nuzzled the edge of his chevron. "Then I will continue until it doesn't."

"You'll get bored."

"No. You are many things, Ratchet, but _never_ boring."


	2. Fulcrum/Grimlock (MTMTE)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am always thrilled to write the rare ship Fulcrum/Grimlock for my great friend grimcognito <3

Grimlock was only trying to help. Fulcrum knew that. The dinobot had a big spark, and he was always grateful he apparently commanded a large part of it.

But as Grimlock buried him in layers of stolen blankets, Fulcrum sputtered and cursed as he was forced to move and fling them away. His audials were filled with a dull roar, his frame overheated and uncomfortable, processor scrambled to the point it was hard to think. A virus, Spinister had proclaimed, then ordered Fulcrum a full shift's worth of rest. Which he _would_ be getting, if his giant Autobot bondmate would-

" _Stop!_ " Fulcrum snapped, clutching his helm as the outburst made his vision swim. "For the love of Primus, Grim, just- just _stop!_ "

Grimlock froze at the harsh tone, arm held stiff in midair as he tried to offer a cube. The smell of warmed energon made Fulcrum's tanks churn unpleasantly. "Bomb not want?"

"No, I don't want _anything,_ " Fulcrum sighed, his audials painfully echoing with the sound of his own voice. "I'm sick, Grim, I told you that. No blankets or music or fuel or massages or 'facing. Nothing's helping, okay?"

There was a moment of blessed silence, then, "...Me Grimlock want to heal Fulcrum."

Fulcrum offlined his optics. "You can't. Just have to wait it out."

"...Yeah."

At the odd shuffling, Fulcrum peeked up at the dinobot, alarmed to see him ducking out the doorway. Immediate panic overrode his weariness. "Grim? Grimmy, where are you-?"

"Me Grimlock too..." Grimlock gestured widely, optics dimmed sadly. "Too _big._ Too much for sick Fulcrum."

"No! No, please stay," Fulcrum begged as he reached for him. Grimlock swiftly turned and caught his hand, squeezing it gently. "I'm sorry, Grim. I didn't mean you should leave. I feel better if you're here."

The tragic expression melted into one of happiness as Grimlock sat and curled around him. "What can me Grimlock do?"

"This," Fulcrum replied weakly as he nestled into the strong arms. "I need quiet and dark. And you, Grimmy."

"Like this?" Grimlock nuzzled his helm lightly.

"Yes," Fulcrum sighed. "Perfect. You're perfect."

Grimlock rumbled happily. "Perfect for Fulcrum."


	3. Skids/Swerve (MTMTE)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dedicated to TekkaChama, who shares my obsession with this pairing <3

No matter how many times Skids visited Swerve's bar- even if multiple times in a single cycle- he felt a small trickle of happiness that was uniquely tied to the cheerful minibot. Nothing could make Skids smile like the sight of Swerve shifting and running back and forth behind the bar, all shiny colours and bright grins and snarky comments. The other regular patrons had long since become bored of hearing Skids ramble about his affection for the perky minibot, which was why he was especially thrilled Getaway was with him at the end of this shift. Surely it would take at least three visits before Getaway began rolling his optics at Skids' randomly interspersed praises of his diminutive lover.

He was still laughing at Getaway's dry comment on Cyclonus' thrusters as they sat in his usual spot, two-thirds of the way down the bar. Still chuckling, he waved a hand at Swerve for his order, then straightened when the minibot simply nodded and turned away. That was odd; Swerve was even more obnoxious about bragging of their silly romance and always made time for at least one kiss every time he came in.

Skids listened with only one audial to Getaway's ramblings as he watched Swerve work. The minibot's smile was diminished, as well as the usually bright visor; his movements were sluggish and sloppy, a sharp contrast to his token brash energy. Something was horribly off in the way Swerve laughed at someone falling off their stool, making Skids frown as the minibot finally clomped toward them with two cubes. He used the opportunity to grab Swerve's wrist when he reached up, leaning down to touch their forehelms together.

"Swerve?" he asked carefully.

"S'nothing," Swerve replied too quickly, trying to pull away. Skids loosened his grip but still held him close, tilting his head. "Okay, so I got a bug," Swerve grumbled, sniffling loudly. "And before you ask, yes, 'Aid looked me over earlier and gave me some picker-uppers."

"That's not 'nothing'," Getaway added, propping his chin in his hands. "You looked _terrible,_ Swerve. You should get some rest."

"Exactly," Skids rumbled, rubbing the inside of Swerve's palm with his thumb. He smiled proudly when he saw Swerve's cheeks darken.

Swerve gestured around them with his free hand. "Right, like I can rest when I got all this going on? Night's not even gotten started yet." His shoulders slumped, his visor dimming further. "And I'm so tired I could fall over and recharge right here on the floor."

"Well..." Skids glanced over at Getaway, who perked immediately.

"Yeah," Getaway agreed, leaning forward as his optics narrowed with a grin. "I was just telling Skids the other day, always wanted to try my hand at doing what you do. You've got the best job on this ship."

"I..." Swerve frowned, critically eying Getaway for a long klik before continuing. "I don't think that's such a great idea... The late night crowd isn't even here yet."

"So?" Getaway prompted as he began crawling up and over the bar. "It'll be an _experience_ all right. I promise I won't break _too_ much stuff in one night."

Swerve began sputtering as he tried to shove the mech back over the bar. "No, I don't- It's just- I _can't-_ ,"

"Don't worry," Getaway interrupted cheerfully with a wink. "If I get lost, I'll just ask Whirl back here to help."

Swerve looked immediately horrified; Skids began laughing, knowing the joke for what it was. "No he won't, Swerve, he knows better than that. Right?"

Getaway pulled an apron on himself- upside down, but it worked- and swaggered a bit. "Sure, _'course_ I do. Now go get some rest. It's just one night."

Swerve sighed, defeated, as Skids easily lifted him up from behind the bar and settled him in his arms. "Fine. One night _only!_ If I come back and find a _single_ bottle out of place, I'll... I'll... do something. Something terrifying. You'll be terrified."

Getaway's optics sparkled as he shared a sly grin with Skids, snapping off a salute. "Got it, boss."

"Off to berth with you," Skids murmured as he stood, gently cradling Swerve to his chassis as he made for the exit.

"Usually I'd be way more excited to hear you say that," Swerve mumbled, pressing his face against warm metal. "I'm just gonna fall straight into recharge."

"You think I'd mind that? Hmph."

"Well, yeah, I mean..." Swerve peeked up at him, looking uncomfortable. "Y'know."

Skids sighed, a low soft sound as he navigated the hallway. "Swerve, if you think I want you in my berth just for fragging, I haven't been a very good mech to you."

"What? I thought... Really?" Swerve's visor brightened slightly.

"Mm-hm. And we'll definitely talk when you're better," Skids promised. "But for now, _rest_."

Swerve yawned, nodding with a much happier expression before curling fully into his arms.


	4. Cyclonus/Tailgate (MTMTE)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cyclonus falls ill. Tailgate _fusses._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My first attempt at writing these two. <3

_Step, step hop. Hop. Step, hop hop._

Tailgate threw a hand against the wall to regain his balance, wobbling on the edge of one foot. Skipping had looked so _easy_ when Rewind had showed him, a simple kind of jump between moving forward, but Tailgate could never get the timing down. It didn't help that he was gingerly cradling his latest creation with both hands, desperate to keep it from casual glances; he had been working on the tiny model- with a lot of help from Rung- for decacycles now, and he didn't want to risk spoiling the surprise early.

He still couldn't decide where he should display it in the hab suite- Tailgate figured he could hide it under his own berth and Cyclonus would notice it _immediately_. His partner had such a quick optic for detail, he rarely could actually slip anything past Cyclonus unless he had considerable planning to set up the charade. So, the model had to be set somewhere nice, definitely nicer than the floor or the only bottom shelf he could easily reach. Maybe the window? Cyclonus' berth would be too- too _personal_ a spot to put it, wouldn't it? Hmm, he could unclasp the small steps by his berth and shift them over so he could actually reach Cyclonus' shelf, but would Cyclonus be upset if he messed around up there?

Tailgate fumbled through one last attempt at skipping before halting by his suite's door, rocking up on the tips of his feet to punch in the code before tumbling inside. He scanned the room with fresh optics, trying to find the perfect spot to showcase his gift and nearly dropped the model in surprise when he saw a dark lump shift on Cyclonus' berth in the dim room. Flailing ungracefully, Tailgate hastily shoved the model under the messy pile of blankets on his berth before he rushed across the room.

A quick inspection revealed that it was indeed Cyclonus up on the berth, curled in on himself and facing toward the wall.

"Cyclonus?" Tailgate whispered, worried when the only response was a strained huff. "I thought you were gonna be gone all cycle on your shift! Are you-," His hands fluttered, hovering close to the dark frame, alarmed when intense heat washed over his fingers. "Cyclonus, are you okay?"

" _No_."

Tailgate gasped, deft hands gripping the large shoulder and rocking the jet onto his back. His grasp slipped as Cyclonus rolled toward him, a sheen of dampness coating the seams in the fine armour. Cyclonus' optics were offline, but Tailgate could easily see the twitch of pain in the stoic face. "What's wrong?" he demanded, his earlier reservation forgotten as he smoothed his hands worriedly down the dark helm.

"Sick."

A single word shouldn't have been able to strike such fear into Tailgate's spark; however, the violence and looming death they'd both experienced since they'd met dialed up what should have been concern into sheer panic. Tailgate's vents were harsh and loud as he scrambled up to lean over the jet, clinging to his neck. "Sick? _Sick?!_ Tell me what's wrong! What can I do? Are you in pain? I gotta get a medic. I've gotta-,"

"Tailgate."

The minibot stilled, visor overly bright as he stared down at the beloved stern expression. "What? What is it? Primus, you're so _hot-_ I mean, temperature, you know, you're giving off enough heat for three mechs-,"

"Tailgate." A large hand lifted, curling around Tailgate's throat and squeezing gently. " _Shut up_."

"I c-can't," Tailgate stuttered, pawing desperately at Cyclonus' cheeks. "You gotta tell me what's wrong, what I can do, I'm not good at being brave like you, I'm scared, you can't be sick-,"

Cyclonus' vocaliser whined as he coughed, optics dimming online as his grip on Tailgate's neck eased. "It is not life-threatening," he wheezed. "Probably a- a virus. It will resolve itself."

"Virus?" Tailgate's vents slowed; that made sense, back before he'd passed out, he'd seen others in his unit fall ill with similar symptoms. "Right, a virus. You can handle a virus. _I_ can handle a virus, so- so it can't be a _bad_ virus-,"

"Stop saying 'virus'."

"-So I'll comm Ratchet and-,"

" _No!_ " Cyclonus' fields snapped, crackling with authority. "I will _not_ willingly subject myself to that farce they deem a medbay."

Tailgate sat up, crossing his arms as he managed a relatively impressive glare at the mech below. " _Good_ , 'cause you're not getting out of berth until you're better. I'm gonna go get Ratchet myself."

"No- Tailgate-!" Cyclonus made a grab for the minibot, but was too slow; Tailgate easily slid off the large frame and down the stairsteps to the floor. The jet growled in frustration, breaking into another series of hacking coughs. "You're _not_ bringing Ratchet in here!"

Tailgate tilted his head by the door, visor flickering twice in a smile. "Alright!"

"Or _any other_ of those- _Tailgate!_ " Cyclonus huffed as the door slid shut.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It had taken some convincing to pull First Aid from his rounds in the infirmary, but Tailgate was pleasantly persistent. The actual diagnosis took little time, both due to Cyclonus' defiance against an actual exam and a recent outbreak of similar symptoms amongst other members of the crew. Apparently a batch of oil Swerve had pulled out of storage had gone sour, leaving nearly a dozen mechs miserable for several cycles, including the bartender himself- which Ultra Magnus had deemed punishment enough for not properly testing ingredients.

Tailgate profusely thanked First Aid for leaving his proper duties for a few kliks; the medic seemed a bit embarrassed but assured him Ratchet was making room calls himself, and First Aid would be in no trouble. First Aid wrote a list of items to collect for Cyclonus which he gave to Tailgate, along with a tube of liquified medication and yet another reassurance that the jet would be fine in a few cycles.

It took Tailgate a long while to rush around the ship and find everything on his list. He ended up peeking in on Swerve as he was finally headed back to his suite, sparing his friend a few kliks to help wipe down the beaded condensation on his frame and put fresh energon within reach. By the time Tailgate reached his room, he was venting heavily under the considerable weight in his arms.

Cyclonus was awake and prepared this time. He frowned as Tailgate flitted about, arranging heavy blankets in the jet's lap, unpacking the medicine and fuel into messy piles on the desk, sliding folded towels under his helm and arms. His requests, and then demands, for Tailgate to stop went unheeded, the minibot simply offering his version of a smile as he chattered about what First Aid had told him.

"Poor Swerve, he's really paying for it this time, you remember the last time this happened?" Tailgate said cheerfully as he wrestled another towel under Cyclonus' helm. "Percy got the worst of it- Pit, that mech can drink like a tank when he wants to." He paused, placing one hand over his mask as he giggled. "Hehehe, get it? _Tank?_ You know, 'cause he's- _ahhhh!_ "

Cyclonus sat up so quickly he swayed, gripped Tailgate's shoulders and crushing the minibot to his chest. His voice, while still low and scratchy, rang with clear irritation. "I do _not_ need you _fussing_ over me!"

Tailgate, who had gone limp at the sudden movement, stiffened immediately. Cyclonus' optics dimmed in surprise as the minibot wriggled and squirmed out of his hold, balancing himself in Cyclonus' lap as he pointed accusingly.

"Fussing? I don't want to hear any more about _fussing_ ," Tailgate snapped, shaking his finger in Cyclonus' face angrily. "I'm just trying to help, and I know you don't ever want _any_ help, especially from me, but you're going to have to get over your snit and _let_ me. I brought First Aid up here so you wouldn't have to stumble down four levels through shift change. I know what everyone else thinks about you- well, most of them- and I knew you wouldn't want them to see you like this. I ran all over this silly ship to get you everything to make you comfortable so you wouldn't tire yourself out doing the errands yourself- or worse, not get anything _at all_ and just be utterly _miserable_ until the virus runs it's course, which means _I_ would be utterly miserable too because I don't like it when you don't feel good! Do you think Ratchet would've loaned you his own electric blanket for several cycles with you wearing that dirty scowl on your face? No! But _I_ got it for you, I _am_ gonna take care of you, and you're gonna _like_ it!"

Cyclonus' impassive expression cracked as Tailgate ended his tirade, his small chest heaving with the heavy venting. Gentle hands loosened their grip on Tailgate's shoulders even as they pulled the minibot close enough to connect their forehelms with a dull _thunk._

"I said I do not _need_ you fussing," Cyclonus rumbled, optics offlining as he spoke, "but that does not mean I do not _appreciate_ it. You did not let me finish, Tailgate."

"I... Oh. Oh." Tailgate's hands fluttered anxiously before settling on the broad shoulders. "I just- I just want to help, you know, because I-,"

"I know."

"...But I _wanna_ say it," Tailgate mumbled, nuzzling under Cyclonus' chin. "I love you."

Cyclonus vented a sigh. "I know."

" _Not_ the response I was hoping for," Tailgate huffed, then squeaked when he felt himself pulled down, helm cradled in a large hand as Cyclonus curled around his smaller frame.

"I prefer action to words," Cyclonus murmured, "but I admit, I enjoy hearing you say it. I love you, too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We need more assertive!Tailgate. C'mon people, he's not some wilting flower! He's just naive, not _spineless._ :P


	5. Drift/Perceptor (MTMTE)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taking out my recent bout of insomnia on Perceptor because I can.

Timing was everything; and even stumbling from exhaustion, Perceptor knew exactly what moment to step into the medbay to avoid the CMO. Ratchet's breaks were few and far between, but once First Aid and Ambulon had joined the crew, they'd ensured the elder medic took the required downtime.

So, even with his optics dimmed and hands shaking, Perceptor allowed himself a rare smile as First Aid waved at him once he crossed the threshold. He huffed a second later when the nurse rushed over, grabbing his arm and nudging him toward a berth. 

"I see this isn't a social visit," First Aid chuckled, fussily pushing Perceptor to sit. "What's going on with you? You appear dangerously low on fuel; you haven't been forgetting to refuel again, have you?"

Perceptor shook his head, frowning when his optics flickered briefly. "No. I  _promise_ ," he added when First Aid crossed his arms. "My current underfunctioning state is due to lack of recharge."

"What's keeping you from recharging? Wait there; I'm going to do some low level scans while we talk. Nothing invasive."

"I..." Perceptor froze, mouth clicking closed as he fought a surge of panic. His restlessness had plagued him since he'd boarded the  _Lost Light_. Teased by only snatches of sleep, he awoke each time he moved or a new dream cycle began. His work afforded only so much distraction before he'd begun to notice a considerable drop in response times and cognitive faculties. What if this was the norm for him now? Would he constantly remain in this zombified state, slogging through thought processes and forgetting important functions and steps and formulas?

A sharp noise startled him, his optics flaring as his vision blurred online. First Aid was staring up at him with an obvious expression of concern. 

"I am sorry," Perceptor murmured, mortified by his lack of manners. "I believe I drifted off for a few seconds."

"You did." First Aid frowned, resting one hand on Perceptor's forearm in a friendly gesture. "My feedback shows you are exhausted to the brink of collapse into stasis. You're healthy otherwise, barring a few symptoms related to your issue. Perceptor,  _can_ you explain to me why you can't recharge?"

Perceptor's vents stuttered, harsh and quick as his gaze dropped to the side. It was humiliating that he, an award-winning scientist, one of the most intelligent mechs to have been sparked, was tortured by such a disgustingly  _mundane_ problem that he could not analyze and solve. "No, I- I have devoted a great deal of time and energy into being able to produce an answer, but I'm afraid I..." 

 _Failed_. 

"...I have none."

First Aid nodded, seemingly unperturbed by the vague quality of his answer. Perceptor relaxed minutely, both surprised and relieved by the nurse's lack of criticism.

"What's your work schedule been like?"

Perceptor sighed, hunching as he gripped the edge of the berth. "I believe it would be more beneficial to explain what all I have determined to  _not_ be factors in my insomnia."

"Very helpful, yes," First Aid replied with an encouraging smile. "Don't worry, Percy, you won't walk out of here without an answer or a plan, alright?"

As unfounded as the promise was, Perceptor's tension eased further at the comforting words. Tiredly, he launched into a long list of criteria he had examined as possible negative effects on his health and the steps he'd taken to prove they were not the root of the issue. First Aid listened intently, jotting a few notes as Perceptor droned on, and the scientist found a small surge of energy at the fact. He could count on one hand how many mechs in his lifetime had listened with such rapt attention to his rambling, the most enjoyable of those being-

A white blur barreled into the medbay, ignoring First Aid's greeting as Drift sped into Ratchet's office. Seconds later, the medic's angry tones echoed, countered by Drift's low, smooth voice.

Timing was everything, and apparently Perceptor's good fortune of the morning had just dried up. His backstruts stiffened as he stared ahead at the whitewashed wall, deftly replacing carefully selective memories as they purged from his databanks. Drift had been the penultimate listener, honestly fascinated by his endless recounting of knowledge- and actively  _remembered_ what he'd said at a later date, even if they'd been coming down from a blissful high while they tangled together and talked until they dropped into recharge. He'd been angry when Drift had spouted some nonsense about not joining them for the Garrus-9 mission, but nothing compared to how Drift had looked at him,  _through_ him, when they'd boarded the  _Lost Light_. A brief cursory smile and an insincere  _'Hey, Percy! Glad you made it!'_ was the extent of their interactions since the ship had launched.

 _Why?_  That was the question that was burning out Perceptor's spark during those long fitful nights. Why was Drift so distant now, when they'd been nigh inseparable before? Surely a single mission apart hadn't put  _that_ much space between them. But if not that, then the fault must surely lie with himself; he had inadvertently done something wrong, offended Drift somehow, driven the swordsmech away with his awkward flirting and whispered confessions. If only he had kept his mouth shut, instead of greedily asking for more than Drift could obviously give-

" _-ceptor!_ "

Perceptor jolted, his vision swimming as his optics onlined again. "I- I am so sorry-," he gasped, then fell silent when First Aid leaned in close.  _Too_ close. With a strange glint in his optics.

"Perceptor, I am highly disappointed in you."

Perceptor inwardly cringed. "I beg your pardon?"

"Refused." First Aid sighed, patting Perceptor's arm before he turned and began shutting down his console. "You coming in here, making me think you have something so serious when you're actually suffering from acute, painful lovesickness. I regret to inform you I have no cure stocked for  _pining_."

"I am  _not!_ " Perceptor denied, horrified by the declaration. "I am not 'pining' for Drift. It is illogical to-,"

"Let me stop you right there, Percy," First Aid huffed as he raised a hand. "Absolutely  _nothing_ about attraction of any kind is  _logical_."

"The agreement I had with Drift is over," Perceptor replied stiffly. "Even if it wasn't my choice, it is the decision he has made, and I will respect it. There is no reason for our past history to affect me any longer."

"No reason at all?"

Perceptor jumped, startled by the soft voice sounding from behind him. He twisted so quickly he overbalanced, steadying himself with a flailing hand as he met Drift's dimmed gaze.  _Oh Primus no-_

"'Cause I can give you one good one," Drift continued in a hushed tone. "How about the fact that I thought you'd hooked up with someone else already?"

There were too many rebuttals to that question, varying from irritated to outraged. Perceptor settled for one of the milder responses; it was, Perceptor guiltily admitted to himself, much easier to focus on the immediate, rather than the larger, issue. "Why would you  _ever_ think that I would seek someone else, rather than wait for you?"

Drift shifted his weight in a move Perceptor instantly recognised as a nervous one. "It's not true?"

" _What's_ not true?" Perceptor's optics narrowed. "Who told you I was otherwise occupied?"

"He- He didn't-," Drift paused, his frown digging deeper. "I guess he didn't say it in so many words, but he certainly  _implied_ it."

" _Brainstorm_ ," Perceptor hissed, pivoting on the berth so he could grip Drift's pauldrons. "I  _told_ you he exaggerates to inflate his ego! How could you ever think I would debase myself by settling for anyone other than you?"

"I was gone. For a while," Drift said flatly. "And I didn't explain before I left. I just... left."

 "And that hurt," Perceptor murmured, "but less so than not being with you since we've been living on the same ship again. And- And what about  _you_ ," he added defensively. "You spend your offshifts with the CMO, who you clearly hold affection for."

Drift's gaze softened, his armour visibly loosening from the tight tension that had clamped it down. "Of course I do. You know what it's like, to be around someone who's saved your life. Multiple times."

"I... Yes. Yes of course," Perceptor admitted, duly chastised. That was only logical.

Drift perked, stepping forward and wedging his hips between Perceptor's knees. "So you're not with anyone?"

"Just you." Perceptor smiled, tired but happy. "Always you. I think-,"

"I think you two should move this somewhere else," First Aid chirped behind them. "Free up some space for mechs who are  _actually_ sick."

Humiliated even more than earlier, Perceptor quickly shunted Drift aside and set his feet on the floor. "My sincere apologies, First Aid, I was not trying to waste your time, I-,"

"Yes, yes." First Aid waved his hands in a gesture reminiscent of Ratchet. "My diagnosis is miscommunication, and my treatment is as much alone-together time as you two can manage. Now  _get_."

Perceptor blindly groped for Drift's hand, pleased when it seemed Drift was doing the same. He gave the nurse a sheepish smile as they fled, breaking into uncharacteristic giggles as soon as the doors whisked closed.


	6. Rung (MTMTE)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's easy to see what- and who- you don't have.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rung drew the loneliness card. Sorry, Rung ;_;

Rung sat back, swirling his drink as his gaze swept over the room again. He could write a novel for each evening he spent at Swerve's bar. The antics, the mistakes, the wrestling, the pranks, the mishaps, the apologies that were oddly sweet, the apologies that turned into violent outbursts of repressed emotions. No two visits were alike, even if the same audience, and Rung loved observing the mixture of order and chaos.

Except now the laughter sounded forced, the smiles faked, high grade demanded faster than Swerve and his helper bot could deliver. There hadn't been this much tension since Overlord's escape and subsequent, horrific defeat. As terrible as the incident had been, Rung had found so much good come from the evil that had torn through the crew. It had been astounding to see Fortress Maximus' transformation after literally facing his demon down without hesitation. 

But, the loss of Rewind, Pipes, and the others had begun a chain reaction Rung hadn't quite grasped at the time. In the crew, certainly, but it had changed something in him that had felt untouched for millennia. 

He  _grieved_.

Had events been quieter- or at least with time to adjust between- it's likely Rung would have noticed this shift within himself long before now. It hadn't even been fully realised when he said his final goodbye to Fortress Maximus and Red Alert; it had physically  _hurt_ to leave them behind, a foreign feeling that had begun the itch under his plating. 

And even still, it hadn't hit him until he was sitting in a darkened corner booth, watching Tailgate jump and yell in annoyance as Brainstorm easily held his drink out of reach. Cyclonus had just taken note of the teasing, though Getaway was already leaning in to chide the scientist. The grins and jokes were forced, true, but there was an underlying sense of trust, of togetherness that made Rung's spark  _ache_.

A drink slammed on the table before him and he squeaked, starting badly. He stared up into a friendly set of warm yellow optics and relaxed. 

"Sorry," Skids muttered as he shifted his bulk into the booth beside him. "M'mug is slippery."

"I was lost in thought," Rung acquiesced, tilting his head.

"So I saw."

Rung smiled, waiting for... he didn't quite know what. Skids was looking at him expectantly, gaze searching his for something. "Do I have something on my face?"

Skids shook his head, his tight smile softening somewhat. "Do  _you_ wanna talk about it for a change, eyebrows?"

"...Pardon?" Rung blinked slowly. "Oh, no, I was just musing."

Skids frowned, obviously not accepting the answer, but waited until he'd taken a swig of his drink before continuing. "Look, Rung, you don't have to be all quiet and stoic in the corner."

"I'm..." Rung huffed softly. "I am not."

"It's hard, keeping yourself at a distance," Skids went on, staring down at his drink. "Worried what will happen when others see you as a person, not as a professional they can ignore and forget when they aren't getting help. Sure, it can impact your ability to help them, but at what cost? You sitting in the corner all your life?"

"I..." Rung's voice sputtered as he searched for words. How unlike him, to stutter and fumble verbally, but this was simply so- unexpected. Rather than answer the complex, if accurate, questions, he chose to deflect the scrutiny. "What brought this on, if I may ask?"

"Only you can answer that," Skids replied wryly, sliding Rung a smirk. "I don't  _try_ to pry into a mech's past life."

"That's not what I meant," Rung huffed, this time in amusement. "What has brought you to such a conclusion?"

"You react every time someone says Fortress Maximus' name."

"Do I?" Rung asked, a thread of nervousness creeping into his voice. "I had no idea- Thank you, Skids, I-,"

"And Red Alert."

"...Ah."

Skids began ticking names off on his fingers. "Rewind. Pipes. Drift. So many mechs that I watched you get close to, and now they're gone. You may be used to fading into the background, Rung, but that doesn't mean you want to be there alone."

Rung's spark lurched at the inference; that was the frame-deep ache located in his spark. Loneliness. A longing he hadn't experienced in so long he'd forgotten how to properly identify it. How could he misdiagnose himself? A rhetorical question, but nevertheless a frustrating one. 

"There was something special about the Lost Light crew," Rung murmured quietly, pleased to see Skids nod in agreement. "There is, still, but there's a hollowness I haven't been able to label. It's so  _simple_ , and yet I failed to see it."

A thick arm wound around Rung's shoulders, drawing him close to Skids' side in a rough hug. "The simplest things are the hardest to understand. Trust me, I know."

Rung sighed, fully relaxing into the firm grip. "I am so glad you're here," he blurted. "I want you to have and do what you wish, but I am so very glad you are still here."

Skids' arm squeezed lightly. "So'm I. Don't forget you're not alone missing the others. And you do have friends here and now, okay, eyebrows?"

Rung's optics closed, his fields flickering with warmth and humility. "I am grateful for the reminder."


	7. Longarm/Blurr (TFA)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Discovered my recent insomnia is due to a virus I wasn't aware I had (mono), so taking that out on poor Blurr.

Night cycles were Longarm's favourite part of his shift; he had purposefully manoeuvered his schedule to include the quieter end of the cycle. Not only did he have more opportunities to work unseen, the dimmed lights and empty echoing hallways gave him a familiar place of peace besides his cramped apartment. The stillness created a mental space to remember and organise details and facts, what was left on his to-do roster, and occasionally, to simply let his processors relax and wander.

 Most of the department was off shift by the time he was returning to his office after grabbing a quick cube. His steps sounded dully as he plodded, thoughts far away from his memorised route when a soft  _click click click_  brought him sharply to the present. 

 "Hello?" he called curiously, his free hand curling reflexively into a fist.

 The tapping- which seemed to be approaching rather than stationary- stopped. Longarm frowned, setting his cube into a wall recess before striding toward the bend in the hall. "Who's there?" he said more forcefully.

 A loud squeak, followed by a louder crash. Even before he turned the corner, Longarm's tense expression had melted into a soft smile. Blurr was splayed on the floor, flickering optics wide with surprise as he scratched at the wall in a feeble attempt to get up. Longarm bent, curling one hand behind Blurr's shoulders and helping him stand.

 "I'm sorry sir I didn't realise anyone else was here, although of course you're usually here until the last shifts of the cycle but your office was dark and I, I, I-," 

 Longarm tilted his head, noting the continued unsteady gleam of Blurr's optics. As well, Blurr's speech was more languid, the usually clipped tone melding into a near slur. "Agent Blurr, are you well?"

 "Well, well enough, just not  _well_ enough," Blurr sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "I can't- I can't- I can't- I- I-,"

 "Come with me," Longarm commanded.

 "No! No, not the medbay, I'm fine, I'm just- I'm just- I don't need to see a medic," Blurr stuttered, panicked as he tried to pull away. Longarm easily kept his grip, his hidden strength more than a match for Blurr's weakened state. 

 "My office, then," Longarm conceded, and Blurr nodded in defeat. Concerned, Longarm watched in mild surprise as Blurr didn't outpace him down the hallway, nor complain about it before they arrived. He tipped Blurr into the nearest chair, then folded his arms as he stared down at him. "Now, agent, explain your condition, if you can?"

 Blurr twitched, gaze darting to avoid Longarm's. "I can't- I can't- I- I can't-,"

 A large hand covered Blurr's, thick digits curling into the thin palm as Longarm smiled reassuringly. "Relax, Blurr. Take your time."

 Blurr nodded again, optics fluttering shut as he in-vented sharply. "I can't recharge, I can't stop thinking, my processors won't shut down so I can't enter a proper recharge routine so I, I, I thought I could do more work instead of being useless but now that I'm here I can't remember what I was- what- I can't  _remember_ ," he finished miserably, shoulders hunched.

 Longarm dragged another chair close and sat before Blurr, gently brushing his other hand down Blurr's neck. The ribbed mesh was warm, overly so, even for Blurr. Diagnosis could be any number of possibilities; perhaps Blurr had caught a virus? Longarm had never seen the agent sick, and thus no criteria to check against. Even so, he doubted it was anything serious if Blurr was still up and moving. "When was the last time you recharged properly?"

 "Three- No. Three? Wait. No." Blurr's frame shivered. "Four. Four cycles without recharge."

 "What can I do?" Longarm prompted quietly.

 Blurr hesitated, his optics unshuttering briefly before he lunged forward, wrapping his arms around his boss' neck. "I don't know I don't know I, I don't know," he wailed. "I don't like being  _slow_ like everyone else, I don't like not- not thinking but thinking too much and I  _need_ to recharge but I  _hate_ recharging it's such a  _waste of time_  but I  _have_ to but I can't and I can't think anymore!"

 Longarm leaned in, resting his dormant red optic against Blurr's forehelm. "I understand, Blurr. Now, listen to me. Are you listening?"

 "Yes yes sir."

 "You have two choices," Longarm continued placidly. "I escort you to the medical facilities and-,"

 "No  _no no!_ "

 "-and they induce stasis for a full-,"

 " _No_  sir, no!"

 "-a full recharge cycle." Longarm smiled as he drew away, pleased to see Blurr leave his chair completely to wedge himself in his lap. "Or, my dear, you will come home with me. I have a few lowgrade pain blockers that may ease your transition into recharge."

 "Oh." Blurr blinked, his skinny thighs squeezing Longarm's waist. "Oh- I- Can I, sir?"

 "Yes, you can, but..." Longarm's hands slid up Blurr's sides as he leaned in to whisper in Blurr's audial. "I warn you, dearest, the blockers may make you feel... slow." He pressed a kiss to Blurr's cheek, reveling in his immediate shudder. " _Vulnerable_."

 "Yes yes yes," Blurr moaned, clutching desperately to the shoulder treads as he grinding into Longarm's lap. "Please sir yes."

 "Vulnerable to my  _attentions_." Another kiss, this one slid along Blurr's jaw. "Would that help you recharge?"

 "That, that, that would help sir, please, yes!"

 And, Longarm thought triumphantly as he gathered Blurr in his arms and stood, he could push his attentions much further than he had yet.


End file.
